


And Then Came You

by ChandlerBlue



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Fluff and Smut, I Don't Even Know, I Was Drunk When I Wrote This, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Season/Series 03, Smut, Soft Ian Gallagher, Soft Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Soft Mickey Milkovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 07:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChandlerBlue/pseuds/ChandlerBlue
Summary: Mickey Milkovich always said sex was just to get off, purely just release.And then he met Ian Gallagher.*comparing season three gallavich sex and season 11 gallavich sex* no spoilers, just smut
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 3
Kudos: 126





	And Then Came You

**Author's Note:**

> Hiii! This is short but hey, better some content than no content, right? this is just something i had in my head for a while now *cackles*. This is just smut, and pretty short smut too. So, enjoy while we wait for episode 8!!! - xoxo, C.B.

*set somewhere after Mickey got out of juvie in season three*

For Mickey, sex was always just that -- sex. 

The whole action was purely just release-based. Put your dick in something, get the tempo nice and good, and then pound into that something until you feel a certain warmth surge through your body. Enjoy the warmth for a short while, then quickly pull out and leave, and when the urge comes again, repeat the action. 

Feelings weren't even a consideration. Hell, if any guy -- or girl -- decided to even mention liking Mickey, even if it was only sexual, it was automatically a turn off. Dirty talk, or talk in general, was completely forbidden when it came to Mickey. Sex wasn't about feelings or talking, it was purely just to get off. 

And then came Ian Gallagher, a redhead with a coy smile who knew -- just simply knew -- that he had Mickey wrapped around his pale, long finger, both literally and figuratively.

With Ian, even sex wasn't just sex, and it took a while for Mickey to adjust to that, to those feelings the sex brought. How could he? All he had ever known was that emotions like sadness and love were for pussies, not Milkovich men who were born with a fucking gun attached to their hip. 

But then, one day, Ian Gallagher sauntered into Mickey's life and changed the perception he had so delicately crafted. 

He wasn't just another asshole for Mickey to stick his dick in -- it was the opposite. It was a guy whose dick was just a bonus for Mickey, eliciting something in the Milkovich that nobody ever had. But it was Ian who did that, the way Ian ground into him, the way Ian touched him like nobody else ever could, the way Ian cleaned then up afterwards, the way Ian smiled contently after each and every one of their hook-ups.

It was the way Ian knew how to make Mickey choke back laughter, the way he knew how to bring out that warmth that he was only meant to feel during sex. The way that he made Mickey want to spend time with him, spend his nights locked in his embrace, the way he called him Mick. Most importantly the way he made Mickey want to kiss him, press their lips against each other, let his tongue wander in Ian's mouth, have Ian do the same.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't. 

Sex with the Gallagher was so good, so different than the others.

Ian bent him over, slowly pushing Mickey's neck down underneath the bleachers, making Mickey grasp the fence, the metal rattling beneath his palms. He could hear Ian unbuckling his pants just as Mickey was untying the knot of his sweats, pulling them down to his ankles. Ian's hand ran down Mickey's back slowly, affectionately, and Mickey let it, finally used to allowing the sensations to course through him. He used to back off immediately, telling Ian to hurry the fuck up, stop touching him, but now, he couldn't find it in him to resist -- it felt too good, and they were already way past that. 

Ian gripped his hips, grinding into them slowly, spitting onto his fingers, considering they had no actual lube. He ran them over his cock and then brought his fingers back into his mouth sucking on them. Mickey couldn't see the action from his position, but the sounds were enough to get him hard, dick throbbing achingly. Ian stretched Mickey out with his wet fingers, making Mickey suppress moan after moan, grunt after grunt. It felt so fucking good. It felt so amazing that he couldn't even form the words to tell Ian to get on him already. The slowness was killing him. He needed Ian's dick inside him like he needed the air to breathe.

It was a 'during sex' kinda feeling, where he wanted Ian to do this to him for the rest of his life, where he just wanted Ian as a whole, with the bad jokes and the corny smiles, all to himself forever. 

He would chastise himself over it later, pretend he only meant it because he was riding a high like no other. But he felt the same way even when he wasn't. He rode the high even when he wasn't getting fucked in the ass. He felt the high whenever he thought of a certain freckled redhead.

Ian pushed his cock inside Mickey, pulling in and out slowly and agonizingly. It went on for a little when Mickey and Ian both adjusted to the tingles and the heat. Then Mickey began pushing back into Ian, making Ian bottom out, fastening his pace more and more. They didn't slow down from then, only increasing in speed, getting turned on by each-other's ragged breaths, the quiet words that fell out of their mouths -- "fuck yes" and "don't stop", "feels so fucking good". Because it did. It felt amazing.

After the warmth surged through every inch of Mickey's being, making his form crumble under Ian; after they cleaned up, teasing and laughing together; after they continued on hanging out, even if it wasn't just sex -- he still felt it.

He tried not to, but his insides twisted every time he thought of the green orbs that seemed to follow him everywhere, even in his dreams.

He told himself it was just the sex.

It was just release but a little better. The dick was good, that's why.

Deep down, he knew it wasn't. But he couldn't accept it, not now, not ever. It was best just to pretend Ian was simply a good fuck. A great fuck. Best Mickey ever had.

If anything, at least the sex was the best it would ever be.

\------

*set sometime in season 11*

Ian was on him in a split second, attaching his parted lips onto Mickey's, slipping his tongue in so easily, sucking on Mickey's, making him buckle, shuddering at the feeling. Ian's hands snakes around Mickey's waist, holding him in place, keeping him from moving an inch while he moved from his now-red mouth to his neck, sucking, biting, leaving marks for everyone to see. Mickey was his, and his only. Mickey didn't stop him, not for a second.

He braced himself as Ian pushed him onto their bed -- where they spent each night wrapped around each other, and where they spent each morning waking up together, breaths in sync -- running his fingertips under Mickey's shirt and around his waistband before tearing it off, leaving Mickey's skin exposed to the coldness of the room, although he felt nothing but heat. Ian pressed open-mouthed, wet kisses onto his chest, taking special care of the tattoo that was beautifully resting on Mickey's body forever. It was Ian's favorite part of Mickey's skin, the one he paid most attention to, even if he wouldn't admit it often. 

He moved slowly towards Mickey's crotch, pulling Mickey's sweats down his legs, discarding and throwing them somewhere across the room. He let Mickey pull his hair -- it was something he loved -- as he pressed his mouth against the wet spot on Mickey's boxers. Mickey gasped and moaned unapologetically as Ian worked his mouth around the erection, now free from the confined space of Mickey's boxers.

Ian grabbed the bottle of lube from the bedside table, stretching Mickey open with his fingers, whispering his name and all the things he'd do to him. When Mickey was ready, which Ian always knew right away, he pressed his slicked up cock against his hole, sliding into it. 

Mickey watched as Ian's eyes closed and as his mouth parted. After the initial shock, he connected their lips, keeping them locked against each-other, as they moved together. They slowly increased the pace, all until the high approached, when they screamed each-other's name, muttered 'i love you's' that they wholeheartedly meant, and then slowly finished together, bodies pressed flush against one another. 

The sex wasn't much different than before and yet it was completely. Back then, Mickey would feel it all, but wouldn't allow himself to indulge in it, to indulge in the comfort the touches, the expressions, the words brought him. 

It was a struggle to get to here, but he was. It was difficult to wrap his head around sometimes, that he had Ian with him for good, that they were going to spend the rest of their lives with each other -- but it was true.

Now, married and happy, Mickey let himself truly be free. Free of his own homophobia and judgment, free of the outside world's opinion. Free of his father, his family name, his upbringing. He let himself feel and love and cherish and accept. 

He was finally free to love and be loved.

That's what sex was about. That's what it always was supposed to be. Not just release, not just a dick and an ass. It was something you did, not because you needed to get off, but because you wanted to be closer to the one you love.

And he only ever loved Ian, so it was no wonder why it had only ever felt right with him.


End file.
